Nightfall
by Lil Miss Morningstar
Summary: Despite the uneasy truce forced upon Heaven and Hell, there was always someone out there willing and waiting to stir up some trouble. Even the best of intentions may end with disastrous results. When someone starts to dig up the past that hits all four of the Horsemen a little too close to home, they must come to terms with themselves and what the Balance actually means to them.
1. Prelude

**AN: helloooo everyone!**

 **So I've had this side story cooking in my mind for a while. I kinda wanted to connect a few missing dots that take place between some points in the Darksiders storyline, seeing as how DS has been put into indefinite standby when THQ went bye-bye. Still hoping that we will get a DS3 sometime, hopefully with the original team behind the first two games.**

 **That aside, I felt that there were a few gaps left. Such as, for example, how Death went from semi-cold hearted bastard that was actually worried about the younger riders to full out 'I'll storm the White City if it means saving my brother'. Sure there were probably millions of years between the events from the Abomination Vault and where DS kicked off, but still! So eventually, after playing around and fiddling with my DS crossover story I got to thinking that I needed more backstory on all of the riders. I mean really, we know next to nothing about Strife and Fury. A lot of tinkering later, this is the result. *big evil grin* (Oiii Aslynn, remember that prequel I was hinting at? Ya? Well here's the first one *wink* )**

 **This story takes place between what happened in the Abomination Vault book and long before the Endwar starts. I plan to include all four of the riders at some point, but for now I'll be focusing more on Death and Strife at the start. There will be some OCs thrown in to get the story moving a long, but nothing more. Other than that, I'll be taking a lot of liberty in some of the loopholes hinted at during Death's travels over four realms during DS2 (actually six if you count the Crowfather's little hideout and Earth…) where they mention there being hundreds if not thousands of other realms out there, all connected to the World Tree. Not to mention, that heaven, hell and earth are not the only players in the whole of Creation. Heck, the book did mention there being a whole group of 'Old Ones' (from which the Makers splintered off), made up by other races that were there before Heaven and Hell started to duke it out.**

 **Unfortunately, I'll probably be updating once a month or so, and I'll probably be jumping back and forth between this one and my DS xover, because between school and work, I don't have a whole lot of free time anymore. Oh well, gotta pay them bills.**

 **Last up, there won't be much (if any) romance in this story. Unless I get a lot of demand for it, I'll be sticking to mostly straight up Action/Adventure. Strife will be in charge of the comedy corner though, lol. No worries, if I do change my mind, I'll throw up a notice several chapters beforehand.**

 **So, let's do this!**

* * *

 _Despite the uneasy truce forced upon Heaven and Hell, there was always someone out there willing and waiting to stir up some trouble. Even the best of intentions may end with disastrous results. When someone starts to dig up the past that hits all four of the Horsemen a little too close to home, they must come to terms with themselves and what the Balance actually means to them._

Prelude – Nightfall

* * *

Hell, by general rule, was not a very hospitable group of worlds. Most of them had extreme weather patterns, usually in the blistering and scorching heat variety, but a few others were worlds of nothing but howling winds and frigid ice mountains or waterlogged pits of poison and miasma. If anything, the demons that made their homes on such hazardous realms were incredibly resilient.

However, given the nature of their home realms, life did not come easy. Plant life was almost none-existent on such worlds, but that did not stop the demons building their many bastions of nightmarish quality. Demons were hunters and scavengers plain and simple. And when it came down to it, demons _ate_ other demons. The idea of agriculture, which had allowed many of the other races and Old Ones to build their empires, was laughable among demons. For one, their worlds generally would not allow it, and secondly, demons hardly had the patience to wait for things to grow. Instead, they stole, raided and pillaged what they needed, be it from demons or any other creatures within their midst. Husbandry was somewhat feasible, but only in the hands of a more level-headed and strategically inclined overlord, who could keep his or her underlings firmly in check.

Not all too surprisingly, demon clans often clashed, armies decimating each other over the course of a day and night. To the victor went the spoils, and the losers rarely made it out alive.

But every once in a while, something out of the norm would happen. When half of a demon realm suddenly goes quiet, with neither hide nor tail of a single demon for several years' worth, there was bound to be trouble afoot.

One such occurrence was what lead Death, eldest of the Four Horsemen, to investigate one of the demon controlled worlds lying in the outer skirts of what was officially noted to be 'Hell'.

Despair's hooves gently clattered over the dry and parched earth as horse and Rider surveyed the general landscape. Jagged, rocky outcrops were the only source of shade, offering limited protection from the blistering hot sun. Death paid it no heed, heat and cold had long since not troubled him in the least. In truth, he was near immune to all weather. The harsh glare of the sun was another story. The bone like color of the surrounding earth and stone made the landscape look like a giant reflective mirror. Once in a while, the Rider would grumble as he stared off into the distance, narrowing his eyes, trying to spot anything out of place.

"Why, in Creation's name, did anyone decide to call this wasteland a home?" Death snarled. Beneath him, Despair snorted loudly, equally displeased. Not far away, Dust too released a couple of indignant caws as he partially hid under an overlooking rock.

Death was a patient man, but even he had his limits. After several days of nothing but scorching sun (since this world apparently either had no night time, or it rotated so slowly that it took dam near forever to turn around) had been more than ready to slash at the first thing that moved. He knew that the world had been home to several clans of demons, and that they had made their homes somewhere in the general region in which he was, but so far he had not seen a single piece of evidence that supported the information. In fact, the whole world looked to be completely abandoned.

If this turned out to be another wild goose chase conjured up by the Watchers, he was going to pull a mass genocide of the annoying sprites. He'd already had enough of the little suck ups after the near catastrophe unleashed by Abomination Weapons that had not been sealed away. It had taken the Reaper better part of several centuries to hunt down every last unaccounted Abomination and cast it into Oblivion. At the very least, the Archangel Azrael had been cooperative with him and allowed him partial entry into Eden, where he and his brothers had stopped the rampaging Nephilim for good, and where he earned his Kinslayer namesake. Good thing too, because he had retrieved plenty of broken Abominations and a couple of intact ones from that ancient battlefield with the angel's help. The Watchers had been nearly hysterical whenever Death went to visit the Keeper and threw weapon after weapon into the Oblivion Gate. Death had cut down more than a few that had dared get anywhere near the weapons.

It came to no one's surprise that all of the Horsemen didn't care much for the Watchers, and that their animosity was returned in kind.

Still, Death moved on. At times he pushed Dispair into a hard gallop in order to cross large expanses of flatlands, and other times he dismounted and climbed nearby rock formation to get a better view, seeing as how Dust tried his best to hide from the sun. Either way, he saw no evidence of life at all. Not even a single insect crawling its way across the land.

As much as the Pale Rider wanted to abandon this so called missive (and wring a few necks while he was at it), he was unnerved by the sheer silence of the wasteland. He had seen more than enough worlds titter on the brink of Oblivion, but this current realm, Portaglos, was nowhere near that level of destruction. If anything, it looked more like a world just forged by a Master Maker, waiting for that spark of life to be imbued into it and to allow it to grow. However, even as Portaglos was barren as far as Death could see, through his magic he could detect life magic within the world. Almost dormant, or muted, but it was definitely there.

So, if the world was still 'alive', then where had all of the inhabitants gone? No Maker would abandon a world half forged, and the world itself had been reported to be used by demons. Surely by now Death would have encountered _something_.

Annoyance gave way to caution and concern as time went on. The silence of the land only served to raise warning signs within Death's mind. For once, the Watchers might have been right on reporting uncharacteristic activity from this realm.

' _Something happened here.'_ Death thought as he further contemplated on the situation.

Demons never abandoned their territories, much less pulled a massive retreat on this scale. If something had indeed dislodged the resident demons, bloodshed would have been present on every inch of the planet; blood, bones, corpses, weapons, destroyed fortifications, anything that would have stood testimony to a war. And none of which Death could find a single clue of. While time alone could have erased much of the evidence, it would have taken centuries if not several millennia to achieve results as Death was seeing.

Eventually, after many more hours of fruitless searching, Death took refuge under a small stone formation. He contemplated on what little he had learned so far, and what little else he could remember about the demonic outpost.

So far his search by land and air (once Dust had been properly threatened into cooperating) had proved next to useless. The only thing that the Rider had achieved out of it was to further confirm his suspicions that something had taken place upon the barren world, and that whatever it had been, it took place some time ago. If something truly significant had taken place, then the Council and the Horsemen would have been informed immediately. To have so much time pass between the incident and sending a Rider was troubling in of itself. If not him, then any of the other riders could have been sent. For all his nonsense, Strife had a keen eye and was as swift as the wind, he would have been able to scout much of the world far faster than Death could. However, the younger rider was short tempered and could have passed by important clues, hence why Death might have been summoned instead.

Death's memories offered no further clues to the ancestry of the world. The most he could recall was that Portaglos had been more of an outpost to demons, or a rest stop between worlds. A few squabbles here and there, a clan or two being wiped off from Creation in a single day, the usual fare for any demon realm. Nothing more, nothing less. Until now at least.

' _A pair of wings might be more useful here. Maybe I should try to get an angel to scout for me.'_ Death mussed as he leaned back into the stone, then chucked lightly. _'As if anyone of them would willingly do me a favor unless it benefited them in some way or another.'_

Regardless, Death knew that he needed to find something soon, or he would have to find something to help him search. Had the scenario been different, he might have just dismissed the whole thing as a lost cause, but something within him had been gnawing at him from the inside since nearly the start. Try as he might, the feeling that something was _off_ was too much to throw away. If worst came to be, then he would just have to use the power of the title of a Horseman of the Apocalypse to persuade a few individuals to assist him.

He would give the barren world another good search before deciding on how to get some help. With that in mind, Death closed his eyes and drifted off into a light sleep in order to remain some energy. Like his master, Dust also decided to take a nap, squawking softly in his own little way of saying 'Goodnight'.

The next 'day' started off no different. A blistering hot sun over his back, sand and dirt being whipped around by the wind, and a long expanse of flat land that seemed to never end. Death had been making a mental list of who he could get to help him when he felt a sudden surge of power not far away. Magical energy, and a lot of it.

Without missing a beat, the Pale Rider spurred Despair in the direction where he felt the energy come from. Be it friend or foe, Death was determined to see what had caused the disturbance, and if luck would have it, it could possibly tell him what exactly had taken place on this barren world.

Finding a maker was not what he had been expecting.

Standing nearly thrice as tall as Death was, the man was built like the mountains his kin shaped into life. Stocked and sturdy, clad in red-brown leather armor over a dark green tunic and pants, with a good half-dozen satchels and bags strapped to a thick belt around his waist, and with a massive hammer in one hand, gave Death enough clues to discern that this maker was more warrior than Sage. His wheat colored hair was kept short, just enough to be pulled back into a tail at the back of his head, while his beard had been carefully weaved into three thick braids and adorned with brands and beads that reached his waist. The only thing that was out of place was the abnormally large straw hat over his head that was undoubtedly not maker-made.

Death slowed Despair down to an easy trot as he neared the mystery maker, who in turn had stopped an incantation of some sort to face the rider. The maker did not look surprised at the sudden appearance of another living being, but did look overall annoyed. Not quite hostile but very close to it. As Death neared, he placed his hammer on the ground, the flat top of the head even with the ground, and made a few steps towards the Rider, crossing his arms over his chest waiting for the other. The gesture was the universal sign among Makers that he was willing to speak, allowing the other to have the first word. The distance from the Maker to his weapon usually meant how much the owner was willing to trust the other. Four paces Death judged. Cautious and weary then.

The gesture made Death raise an eyebrow. Usually he would get colder greetings, especially when the given individual was far from his or her native land. What was a maker doing in this wasteland anyway? Death was however, silently glad at the chance to get some answers without having to beat it out of other people's skulls. So he would respond in kind. Once he was near enough, he dismounted and summoned Harvester. Then with a single swing, he stabbed the end of the scythe into the earth, until half of the blade was hidden from view and walked the rest of the way towards the maker.

He could summon the scythe at a moment's notice anyway, it things went sour. He was just doing it for the sake of being… polite.

"You are far from home, maker. What brings you to this hellhole?" greeted the Rider.

The maker grunted, uncrossing his arms and placing a hand at each side of his waist. "I could be asking the same thing of you Horseman, but your reputation precedes you. As for me, work is what brings me here. This world has long since been in need of Reoriginating. I'm here ta do it." The man finished with a mild sneer.

"Reoriginating?" Death inquired. He had dealt with several makers here and there, but this was the first time that he had heard of the term being used among them. Makers usually were somewhat secretive about the finer details of their work, but the way the maker before him used the term it had to relate to something of serious importance. Death did not like being kept in the dark about something that important. "Never heard of the term."

"Figures no one outside of a maker knows about it." The maker grumbled as he grabbed his hat by the rim to pull it back down, shading his face once more from the harsh sun. "Well, I'll keep this short. As you've already seen Horseman, worlds do die. Some naturally, some not. They don't just disappear into Oblivion which is what most people think. However, it takes a little more… ah persuading let's call it, to get a world's soul ta unlatch itself to be cleansed. Only a maker can do that. After that, the rock left behind can be made to take on new shape and form, and later imbued with a life once more. Which is what I'm here to do. "

Death had actually been taken back by that. If anything he had not seen or heard of anything of the sort. The possibility that any dead world could be resurrected did not sit well for the Rider. Some things were meant to stay dead, doing anything otherwise was just asking for trouble. His first instinct was to call out the maker for lying to him, but the man's posture was that of a man with full certainty in his words. Not to mention, something like that should have reached his ears long ago, considering that he had been a Rider for millions of years, not just a scant few.

"Why would you need to resurrect a world? Last I checked makers were only concerned with making words, not bringing them back to life." Death narrowing his eyes, his unspoken threat clear in his tone. He'd already had enough experience with people trying to bring back to life things that should remain dead to last him an eternity, several time over. The Ravaiim might take the forefront of the list of things not to resurrect, but Death could whip up a list with several dozen entries about unspeakable horrors that needed to remain dead, forgotten and erased from all history.

If this maker was about to do some necromancy on a planetary scale, Death would not hesitate to call Harvester and separate the man's head from the rest form his body.

Surprisingly enough, the maker was not intimidated by the Pale Rider. "Funny man." The maker replied without a single trance of humor, narrowing his own eyes at the pun. "Yes, we makers were charged with shaping the earth and stone, and bringing life into the worlds. However, leaving a bunch of dead worlds just floating around is a giant waste of time, effort and resources. But no, I do not resurrect them as you might believe. I make a an entirely new world from the rock that made up the old one, reforge it, reshape it, raise new mountains and draw new valleys, then I add the spark of life. A clean, pure soul. No trace is left of the old one. No memory, no nothing. Just a brand new world somewhere close to where the previous one once was."

This was entirely new information for Death. The Rider knew that all souls, regardless of where they came from, traveled to Well of Souls after their demise. From there, souls would eventually take new life somewhere in Creation. He knew that the souls had to pass through some sort of cleansing process, to shake off everything that they accumulated during their lifetime, before they were allowed to be reborn. Usually souls did not change shapes much; a deceased angel normally was born as an angel again, and demons stayed demons. But once in a while they became different, but similar creatures. From his understanding, extinct species and races usually 'hopped' to the most compatible creature in existence.

Unless of course, you happened to have a soul sealing amulet at hand and you had every intention of permanently sealing away your deranged and bloodthirsty Nephilim brethren. But that was another story.

Prior to this little meeting, Death had not given much thought as to what happened to worlds that died off. Most of them would drift away into the far reaches of all of Creation, until sooner or later they would simply disappear, without a single trace. Death would have believed that Oblivion would claim them, but if what the maker said was indeed true, then worlds were not too different from the souls that they gave home to.

In retrospect, worlds were rather large in comparison to the constructs that makers were renown for. While all of their golems and machines were imbued with part of a maker's life, and were in a way an extension of the maker's will. To think that a single maker was able to control and guide hundreds of worlds for eons on end was nearly overwhelming. And yet, makers had made thousands upon thousands of worlds, each one living independently from the master that gave it life and any other siblings created by the same maker.

Just what kind of power were these makers actually wielding? And here was one standing right before him, that claimed to shatter worlds, break them down and rebuild them into a new world of its own.

It also explained just what exactly how worlds suddenly appeared all over creation eerily close to long dead worlds that suddenly disappeared.

Perhaps there was more to the makers than Death had given them credit for initially.

"Well I'll be dammed. Worlds can be reborn?" he asked, almost incredulous at the possibility.

The maker just laughed, long and deep, then grinned widely at the Rider before him. "Surprised Rider? Worlds have souls of their own. It takes a special kind of soul to give life to a world. One that we makers guard and watch over very carefully. There are enough bastards out there wanting to hoard power from the souls of the living and the dead. We see no reason as to why give them an opportunity to get their hands on a World Soul."

Death could definitely see no fault there from the maker's part. "To which end you've been sent to retrieve this one's then, World-breaker. Although it looks like you're running a few centuries late here." Death added sarcastically while gesturing to the barren landscape.

"Well now." The maker huffed, yet his lips twitched upwards into a small grin "This World-breaker has a name too, I'll have you know. Bormak, of the Thunder Aerie. The only maker in charge of Reoriginating worlds. As for what kept me busy, well I'd have to give thanks to you for that. Someone had to pick up after all those Nephilim." Death froze in place, all trace of humor lost to him. Bormak too lost his cheery demeanor. "Took me long enough to chase down where some of the worlds had run off to. I tell you one thing Rider, it was not pleasant business hearing what each one had gone through as I released them."

"Y-you…" For once, the Pale Rider was left speechless. It took great effort for the eldest of the Horsement to get his mouth to work once more, and when he did, his voice turned out uncharacteristically softer, but mostly broken. "You destroyed the worlds left behind by… the Nephilim?"

The Rider nearly flinched at how weak he sounded. In truth, Death's past would always be one of his few weaknesses. He was the only one of the four Riders that actually knew how horrible their history had actually been. It was a subject that he would have preferred to never bring up. He'd already gone through great lengths to destroy or hide away as much as he could. And yet, the maker before him had heard almost firsthand about the atrocities that had been committed. A good number of them by Death's own hands.

But then again, what was Death but a broken man trying desperately to atone for the crimes perpetrated by his own kin? Few knew at all about the eldest Rider's motives, not even his fellow Horsemen.

And now, he would have to add this maker to the list of people that knew of his sins.

"Those and many more Rider. Not pleasant, but it needed doing." The maker explained in an even tone. "At ease Horseman, it was for the best. Those worlds are now gone for good. The memory of what took place there is now completely erased. Worry not Rider. Whatever secrets were left, they will die with you Horseman, and with me."

Death looked up, into the maker's eyes and found no lies. For whatever reason, Bormak had decided to let the Nephilim and their secrets die. Those were some mighty powerful secrets… some of which not even Death could ever hope to fully erase. Lesser beings would have searched for a way to use the Nephilim's dark legacy to empower themselves, to wage war without restraint and bring about another era of unspeakable horrors… Yet he did not, for which Death was greatly relieved to hear.

As if reaching a silent understanding, the maker nodded and turned away, back towards where he left his hammer, giving Death some peace of mind.

"Not many would have decided as you did, Bormak." Death eventually said, taking the opportunity to reach the maker. "Creation… and the Balance will be in your debt." _And so am I_ , Death half wanted to add, but could not bring himself to say it out loud.

Bormak grunted as he lifted his hammer, whirled it around once, before resting it on his shoulder. "I already know Horseman. There is a reason why only one maker is allowed to Reoriginate worlds, and we are bound by heavy pacts of our own. What we see, what we find, and what we learn is not to be shared with anyone… save for very special occasions. And then only if, _only if_ ," the maker emphasized as he started to walk away. "Balance is at stake."

Behind the mask, Death raised an eyebrow. "I take it I'm on that special list." He said as he quickly caught up with the maker.

The maker nodded, slowing down and shortening his strides so that Death would follow him easier. He was not about to call out the smaller man needing to hop, skip and sprint every few steps just to stay even with him. The large man's face was grim as he gazed into the horizon. "I've seen enough worlds to know when something is wrong. This one has trouble written all over it. I've been wanting to Reoriginate it for several centuries now, but I could not begin as long as there was life within the world. Creator's rules mind you. Dam pesky demons made their way in and dug in deep, bringing supplies from other worlds. Had to come and check every other year and see if they had finally retreated. Little bastards finally ran off, and I planned to get started before they decided to come back."

Well that explained a few things, such as how the demons had managed to entrench themselves in an otherwise inhospitable world. Still no sign was to what actually happened to the demons however. But perhaps the maker knew more than he let on. Death would have to press on if he wanted to get answers.

"You say that the demons ran off." Death began. "Yet I have seen neither hide nor tail of them for several days. Not even a trace that they had been here at some point. What kept you from Reoriginating this world as you claim when all I've seen is a world that has been abandoned for millennia?"

"Fair question Rider. Shame I do not have a real answer to that." Bormak raised his free hand to still the Rider's tongue as he shook his head. "Last I was here, less than a year ago, the land still crawled with demons here and there. Not as many as they once were but still too many for me liking. They had their camps and dens and everything else you would expect them to have. Yet, a few weeks back, one of my wards finally activated when it no longer sensed life. Much like yourself, I came here to check and see if it were true. What I found was the world to be as barren as you see it now. Not a single trace of the demons as you've put it. I'd wager that is also what brought you here Rider."

"You would have waged right, maker." The Rider suppressed a sigh. "Demons do not disappear overnight like this. I am to find out what happened here, and if needed be, put a stop to it."

Bormak took a few more steps before coming to a complete stop, gazing into the ground as if looking for something specific. Death saw nothing of notice, just more bleached out, sun baked earth half covered in fine sand. Bormak ignored him for now, kneeling down and dusting off a few spots until he broke out into a grin.

"Well Rider," he began, straightening out. "If we want answers, there is only one place to get them. The World itself."

Death looked at the spot that the maker had just uncovered. It looked no different than the rest of the land he had seen so far. Whatever Bormak had found, Death could not see. Slightly irritating being left out of the loop, but he would trust in the maker's judgment for now.

"That little spot of dry land isn't saying much right now."

Bormak grunted as he placed his hammer on said little spot, the flat top of the head even with the ground. "Good thing you found me then Rider. World Souls don't really talk to strangers. Also, you might want to take a few steps back."

Death was about to make a witty remark until he saw Bormak place both hands along the pole of the hammer and began some sort of chant, making a whole array of runes and glyphs glow under the scorched earth. And then, it was as if the whole world had come back to life.

Energy, magical energy, flowed from Bormak into the ground, and the world responded. Like a sleeping bear trying to wake up from a long winter's sleep, the earth began to shift, moan, crumble and quake. On the horizons, the mountains began to stir, releasing thick clouds of sand and dust that obscured the view for miles on all sides. Loud rumbles soon followed, and even if Death could not see it, he didn't need to guess that the mountains were being torn down by avalanches. Even the eldest Rider had trouble keeping his footing, and that was with using Harvester as extra leverage.

And somehow Bormak continued with his spellwork completely unaffected.

After several seconds that felt more like hours, the ground started to calm down. As the dust settled, Death tried his best to peer through the remaining dust clouds. At first he saw little change, but slowly he began to see that the magical runes that had appeared when Bormak started his chanting, were softly glowing in gentle hues ranging from sweet apple red, to sunset orange, to rusted gold and back. As for the maker, he had one of his hands extended out, and in it, a will o' wisp of some sort was flickering in and out, at times gently floating and at others it jerked around as if it had trouble remaining airborne. Odder still was the fact that the little wisp appeared to be conversing with the maker.

Death had been about to wonder where the wisp had come from when he recalled Bormak's words.

 _World Souls don't really talk to strangers._

Death's eyes widened upon the realization. A World Soul. The maker was conversing with the World Soul that belonged to Portaglos.

Bormak had not lied that World Souls were similar to the souls of other creatures. Once separated from the body, souls usually were tiny. So small in fact that Death had managed to trap and store the souls of all of the Nephilim into a hand sized amulet and still had room to spare. In comparison, the World Soul was huge, being as wide as the head of Bormak's hammer was, and the ethereal glow to it was by far brighter.

Still, Death could tell that something was wrong with the World Soul in Bormak's outstretched hand. Its glow flicked irregularly, and it barely was able to hover in place. Had it been a living animal, Death would have likened it to that of one that had suffered a mortal blow but had not yet succumbed to its wounds. It was dying.

Could World Souls die? Did they just disappear once they could no longer take whatever grief consumed them?

It made the Reaper wonder in what kind of state had the World Souls been of all the worlds he had aided in destroying. The current state of the flickering wisp all but begged to be released from its suffering. However, Death knew that there was little he could do for that World Soul. Only a maker, and a powerful one at that, would be able to give rest to the wisp.

Perhaps, he owed Bormak more than he had initially believed.

Death looked on as Maker and Soul conversed, their words deft to his ears. Still, he could see in part how Bormak became grim and sorrowful as time went on. Patiently, he waited in silence, taking the moment to contemplate that the universe was far bigger than he knew. He had been a Horseman for thousands upon thousands of years, and here he stood, beholding a scene that probably had not been witnessed by anyone other than a maker before.

And yet, it was a tiny part, a small gear that went unseen and yet fueled some of the grandest parts of all Creation. But, for all the power and magic involved into creating it, it was also delicate and fickle. An army of demons, angels, or anything in between could bring a world down to its knees without a care. Life was all tied in, one way or another, and yet so few realized just how precious life was, in every shape and form.

It made Death clench his fists realizing just how important the Balance actually was. And also, it cemented his decision of taken the mantle of a Horseman.

There was _not_ going to be a repeat of the Nephilim under his watch. Be it from heaven, hell or something else altogether. He would put a stop to it, by whatever means necessary. If he had to go around the Charred Council and their dammed Watchers, then so be it.

For his brothers, and for the Balance, there would be no stopping Death on his newfound and self-appointed mission.

An hour or so later, the World Soul's glow faded out until it was barely visible. Bormak's shoulders sagged down as he placed the dim wisp on the ground, right in the center of the array of runes that had appeared around the maker. Death took it as an indication that their little chat was over, and by the look of the maker's face, he did not like what he heard.

The Kinslayer had been debating if he could approach the maker when Bormak decided to answer that by shifting his stance to the one he had taken before the Soul had appeared. Quickly, the Pale Rider braced himself in case the maker started to cast another spell of the same magnitude as he had before.

And good thing he did.

Just as before, the maker grabbed the pole of his hammer with both hands and began chanting. Soon the winds started to pick up once more, creating hurricane like winds that whipped around the barren landscape. This time however, the storm grew even stronger, fiercer, even as the ground beneath the rider began to shake again. Not only that, but as visibility lessened, the glow of the runes under Bormak only intensified, drawing in power left and right, not from the area around them that was bone dry and deprived of all live, but from somewhere deep within. The very essence of the world. The heart of the mountain as the makers called it. Or simply the Core of the world… the resting place for the World Soul.

Death soon realized that the abnormally large wisp that Bormak had been conversing with had been but a small image of the whole thing. An avatar, an extension of the complete being manifested as such for practicality. Drawing out the whole thing required far more than a little persuading, considering the sheer amount of energy that was amassing around the maker. As fearless as Death was, whatever was about to take place had the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Instinct was shouting at him to get away, to find shelter, but he knew that there was no real safe place from whatever was coming.

He did not have to wait long.

Suddenly, Bormak took the large hammer in one hand, and raised it as high as he could. Thunder and lightning waged war in the skies, striking the metal head of the weapon yet causing no harm to the maker, who was deep in trance like state. Then, without warning, Bormak brought the weapon down with every bit of strength in him, hitting the spell array dead center. The collision generated what had to be the loudest thunderclap Death had ever heard in his life, at the same time as a pillar of pure, bright light emerged from the runes around the maker, connecting the earth to the skies and unleashing a massive shockwave that spread both outward over the landscape, and inward, going deeper and deeper into the world itself.

All around them, time was frozen in place. Only the clouds rumbled up above, but they too had slowed down as if whispering to each other, afraid and weary of the unknown.

Seconds later, despite the moderate ringing Death felt in his ears, he was still able to hear a faint, soft moan echo around him. Shortly thereafter, little puffs of golden light began to emerge from the ground. The little marble sized spheres glowed much like the World Soul's shade that had appeared before Bormak, in soft tones of reds, oranges and yellows.

Slowly, more and more of the little glowing orbs emerged, floating no higher than Death's waist, and began to roll away, creating a beautiful never ending sea of twilight in waves. They moved on their own, no wind to help them, all in the same general direction. Not far away Bormak stood up, watching the spectacle like a shepherd watching over his flock, a mournful look on his face.

The procession continued for quite some time. Every few seconds a wisp or two would bounce off Death's legs, hover in place a bit and then continued on its merry little way. With each touch, the last Firstborn of the Nephilim felt wave after wave of pain, despair, grief, and finally relief. Sweet, sweet relief.

For once, Death had been too enthralled by the majesty of the event to even dare to break the silence, let alone move and disturb them. He knew not where the wisps were gathering, but he could tell that they were moving with a specific purpose in mind.

Somewhere, far off in the distance, half shrouded in dust clouds, the Rider could barely distinguish a single mountain glowing in gold. The gathering point of the wisps no doubt.

In a way, it was one of the most beautiful sights Death had ever seen.

Only once the last of the orbs rolled away, did the Rider move towards Bormak.

"Was that the World Soul?" he asked softly, just above a whisper.

"Aye. What's left of it anyway. Too full of grief to be pulled whole, so I did what I had to do. Break it down so that it could reach the Well of Souls on its own." Bormak answered, his voice filled with regret from his actions, no matter how just they were.

Death turned to look towards the mountain that still glowed off in the horizon (which on second thought could have also been a tree… one heck of a very large tree, but that can't be right… could it?) , many of the wisps still making their way towards there. He too felt displeasure for the outcome, even if it was the best alternative that they had. "Then it is free now." He hummed before turning his gaze back to Bormak. "Yet, you were able to speak to it. Did it have anything to share about what happened here?"

The maker sighed deeply, and turned his back to the Horseman. He took a few steps before retrieving his hammer, letting it rest once again over his shoulder. Bormak stood in silence watching as the last of the orbs reached their destination, until the whole of the horizon mended together with the dust clouds.

"I can tell you one thing Horseman." Bormak said finally. "You'll be needing some bigger guns."

"And why would that be?" Death inquired.

Bormak looked at him straight in the eyes, chin straight, jaw clenched, as he tightened his grip on his hammer. Whatever sadness he had felt for the world had been replaced with fire.

"Nightfall, Horseman. It was Nightfall."

* * *

 **For once in my life, I actually managed to stay well under my usual 10k words per chapter mark. I'm genuinely surprised. I might have sidetracked a bit, but I ended up writing what might just be one of the most beautiful scenes I've ever written. The whole world soul bit hadn't been on my original draft, but once I stumbled into it, it just sorta flowed… and better yet, filled in a ton of gaps that had been bugging me at later parts.**

 **Anyway, reviews are much appreciated!**


	2. Chapter 1

**Hello ladies and gents! Yeah I know I took my dear sweet time with this one, but well, long story short, shit hit the fan in real life and most of my free time went bye-bye. I won't bore you all with the details since I managed to write this down over the course of two weeks during slow days at work.**

 **Ugly stuff aside, a big thank you goes out to the folks that fav'ed, followed and reviewed! Interesting tidbit that most of you managed to pick up was that I planned to write the story as a sort of continuation to the Abomination Vault book. Made me giddy to read all the feedback and how everyone was loving the story so far.**

 **And in case anyone was wondering, Bormak will be sticking around for a while. He's got a few bones to pick. *wink* And no worries, Death is still his good old badass self. The other Horsemen will start to make their appearance in the following chapters.**

 **At any rate, enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Darksiders. End of story.**

* * *

 _Despite the uneasy truce forced upon Heaven and Hell, there was always someone out there willing and waiting to stir up some trouble. Even the best of intentions may end with disastrous results. When someone starts to dig up the past that hits all four of the Horsemen a little too close to home, they must come to terms with themselves and what the Balance actually means to them._

Nightfall – Chapter 1

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Nightfall. That was one name that Death had not heard in a while. And also one that he would have preferred not to hear about for a long time.

In truth, the nightfallen reminded him a little too much of his own past, but there were a few differences. While the nephilim were born from the mixture of angel and demon through a lot of potent magic, the bulk of the nightfallen were actually angels kicked out of Heaven. Unfortunately, whatever honorable aspects they once had eventually eroded into bloodthirsty savages that heavily resembled Death's deceased kin.

What had once started as a grouping of castaways from the lands under angelic rule, banding together for survival against whatever came their way, they eventually grew so much in strength and in numbers that they began incorporating others that held far more unsavory backgrounds, including those from other races.

Despite being made up mostly by angels, the nightfallen cared little for the orderly ways of Heaven, nor their morals. To survive, they became mercenaries and swords for hire, often willing to do anything for the right amount of coin. Thievery, sabotage, smuggling, assassination and bribery were commonplace practices both among themselves and with their line of business with outsiders.

Other races often made use of their services, especially because if they were captured or killed on their missions, it was far too easy to incriminate the White City while losing little to nothing.

Eventually the rest of the angels wizened up, and whatever criminal sentenced for exile was branded with the rune for "Fallen". Once on the side of their face, and again along the spine of their backs. Then, they were taken to the High Sorcerers, who were in change of permanently turning their once white feathers into various shades of blue, gray or black through some very powerful and secretive spells.

To some, it was a matter of shaming the criminals, further humiliating them by taking away the Creator's blessing of ivory white feathers and forcing upon them a constant reminder of them having turned their backs to the Light and their brethren. To others, it was more of a practical approach, since it proved to be the quickest way to discern if the person was a proper angel, or a fallen exile, be it up close or at a distance.

Some of those exiles tried desperately to regain their old pristine coloring, but no matter what they tried, the color stayed. Not even if they plucked every single feather on their body, new feathers only grew back in whichever color resulted from the enchantment. Only one of the High Archangels could undo the spellwork, and as few as they were, none of them were about to remove their spells for traitors and deserters.

And yet time passed. Eventually those exiled began to embrace their wings, casting away their bonds with Heaven, claiming that the sun loving bird brains had an ego the size of all of creation and cared more for their own political power and greed than the wellbeing of their people. To add further insult to injury, the fallen also accused the High Heavens of twisting the Creator's words for their own benefit, taking important teachings so far out of context that it might as well have justified themselves —and only themselves— into having free reign on sinning. So, instead of hiding behind such hypocrisy, the Fallen opted to live out in full under the light of the moon and the starts, away from their sun worshiping relatives. They became mostly nocturnal, making the best of the fact that their new plumage offered them excellent camouflage against the darkness and the night's sky.

Soon after, they formally took on the name of Nightfallen, in honor of their new lifestyle.

From that point on, their dubious history made a turn for the worse. Were they once started out as hunters, scavengers and opportunists in order to survive, they began to turn towards less than honorable activities. They became short tempered, selfish, untrusting and prone to battle for any reason at all. Often engaging in skirmishes or attacking and stealing from unguarded merchants. They raided, rampaged, took and killed as they pleased. Heaven did try and send regular patrols to chase away the nightfallen, but not even Heaven had enough manpower to keep Hell at bay and hunt down their wayward children at the same time.

Despite everything, the nightfallen eventually managed to gain control over lands in some remote realm far away from the stronghold of the Hellguard and the rest of the White City's military branches. Supposedly, they dug deep and created a fortress city for themselves: Nightfall.

Since then, they had become little better than demons wrapped up in angelic skin.

Death personally had not visited their fortress, but he had clashed with several of their members already. He'd battled and bested several of them on various worlds, and even decimated one of their armies that had been coming very close to annihilating the local civilization.

Apparently having lost a legion of their fighters at the Rider's hands in a single battle hadn't sent a clear enough message.

If they were indeed behind whatever had taken place on the now barren world that Death stood on, then the Pale Rider would have to drop by for a visit and stop whatever plans they had in the works before things went out of hand.

"Nightfall?" Death asked after a long silence. "Are you sure it was them?"

"Branded and stained wings. You cannot mistake their lot." Bormak spit out, recalling the images shared by the World Soul he had just released. "The White City has always been quite peculiar of how they treat those that they consider traitors, before kicking them out."

"Not just Heaven." The Rider countered, eyes narrowing in rage as he recalled his encounters with them. "That pit is full of runaways, criminals, backstabbers and traitors hailing from every corner of Creation."

The maker nodded in agreement. "True enough. However, all of this—" He stretched out a hand signaling the deserted world around them, "— was carried out by former angels. But there was something else too, Rider."

Bormak knelt down so that both he and the Horseman were closer to the same level. There was rage in the makers eyes as well, held in check and tempered by years upon years of hard earned wisdom. Death could tell that on some level, whatever had taken place on this desolate world had certainly made it a personal matter to the maker.

"Heed my words, Horseman. Whatever happened here, was but the testing grounds of something much, much worse."

Death clenched his hands. Half of his mind was already calling him to go out and rid Creation of all of the nightfallen, but he also knew that jumping on assumptions tended to only dig even deeper problems. He would need to know what happened first, and find out just how deep the rabbit hole went.

"What exactly happened here, World Breaker?"

Bormak clenched his jaw and his grip on his hammer visibly tightened. "Some kind of weapon. A prototype, more than anything. They brought it here to test it out." The maker turned so that Death was no longer in front of him, just enough so that the rider was at his side, and leaned forward, stretching a hand out over the the open ground and began drawing with a single finger into the loose sand. Simple in shapes, yet allowing Death to understand the message without much guesswork. "It looked unfinished, but it did its work. They used giant raven-like birds to fly it here, that could have easily swallowed any of the nightfallen in a single bite, if not for the heavy straps binding their beaks shut. The weapon itself looked like a large egg made of metal, taller than yourself and about half as wide, with several sets of handles attacked to it on all sides. Runes covered nearly every visible inch of it, and it pulsed with horrible, angry energy."

Death scooted closer to the the maker in order to see better, taking in an odd scenario that if not for the person who was telling him of the recent events, the Rider would have dismissed it all as a child's overly enthusiastic imagination. The egg, the angels and the birds were easy to tell apart, yet the old maker would stop and hover over some parts, pointing out anything of import as he continued his tale, then going on to add new additions or to revise what was already there.

"The nightfallen brought it here to this world, not far from where we are at actually," Bormak continued still hunched over one knee, giant hands effortlessly gliding over the loose sand and making small indentations where they were needed, "dug a small crevice into the ground and placed the egg in the center, nailing the chains into the ground as well to keep it steady and upright. Afterwards, they used additional lengths to chain to tie the handles on the egg itself to the harnesses the birds that brought it here."

More and more lines were added into the ground, lining up perfectly with the story the maker was telling with ease. For a man of the size of a maker, the drawings were surprisingly neat and elegant, testament to the old one's attention for craftsmanship, even on a simplified scale.

"Then, once the egg and the birds were secure, one of the nightfallen, a magic user, opened up a portal through which most of them passed through. All expect for one." With a quick swipe, Bormak erased the other angel figurines leaving only one. "The last nightfallen placed some sort of time delayed explosives around the egg itself. He set them off and ran to the portal, which closed behind him, leaving the weapon, the explosives and the birds.

"The explosives soon went off together, creating a large enough explosion to scare the birds, but not harm the egg. Scared for their lives, the birds tried to fly away in different directions. The heavy chains strapped to them were no match for their full strength, and eventually they were able to pull apart the egg's outer shell." Death narrowed his eyes at the odd scene of the birds playing tug-o-war with a giant egg in the middle, but deep down he too knew that whatever was inside that thing didn't bode well for anyone.

To his side, Bormak grunted as he swiped a hand over the egg and redrew it with parts of the shell flying away with the large birds. Then he added an ominous looking spiral where the original egg had been. "With the eggshell removed, the inside became exposed. It was a sphere of some of the most foul and unstable energy I have ever seen Rider. Whatever it was, it grew increasingly unstable, until it released a massive explosion that _disintegrated_ all life matter. Nothing was left of the birds and the weapon, and it also took out every single living being on the planet." He then swiped a hand over the entire drawing. "Nothing Rider. Nothing was left."

"Nothing…" Death's voice trailed off. If the barren sands and dry stones where all that was left of a once living world (dry as it was), then even he dared not even imagine what it could do to another world filled to the brim with life. "What of the huts, the dens and outposts left by the demons?" he inquired after a short moment of silence, recalling the utter lack of _anything_ he had come across in his search.

Bormak stood up, eyes lingering towards the horizon yet clearing seeing flashes of what the world itself had told. "Gone. As with the ones that built them." Seeing the mild glare coming from the Rider, he further elaborated. "You forget Rider, the wood they cut was once part of a living being. Their linens and leathers came from plants or beasts. Even the very metal they used was forged by fire, fire fueled by wood or coals that once were alive, and cooled by water, which gives life. When that… bomb went off, it took everything that held even a speck of life and turned it into sands and ash. Hence why you see no evidence of the demons that once roamed here."

As far-fetched as it sounded, it did match the evidence that Death had so far witnessed. To have killed off every major life form on a planet was one thing, but to utterly disintegrate every ounce of living material was on a whole new level of destruction that made the nephilim tool like amateurs. Even Death himself wasn't sure if _he_ could accomplish something of that magnitude alone, with or without the backing of the Charred Council.

The worst part of it all was that all that destruction was wrought by a prototype. An experiment. Death felt his blood run cold and fought hard to suppress a shudder at the mere thought of what could the finished version of said weapon accomplish.

If that thing ever came to completion, then it would be the day that Death truly feared for all of Creation. But this was but one piece of a puzzle. Why kill off a world? What was there to gain? Was there anything left behind that could be deemed valuable enough to consider a world-wide purging of all life forms? If going by the maker's words then anyone attempting to colonize a purged world would be hard pressed to obtain resources and continuously resupply themselves, since the world would have become completely unable to produce water or any sort of nutrients. Feeding an army would be a logistical nightmare of its own. A mining operations base perhaps? The rock left behind was still strong enough to form mountains, but much of it had turned soft and brittle, as Death had discovered when he attempted to climb various outcroppings for a better viewpoint, which would mean that any sort of tunnel or underground construction would face constant cave-ins and hardships. Maybe a maker could keep a mountain from crumbling over his head, but that brought Death back to where he started.

To what end?

As far as Death could think of, there was nothing really of value to gain from so much destruction, other than a foothold into uncharted territory that was bound to be more trouble keeping and maintaining in a usable state than what would have been had they used conventional conquering techniques. Or had the weapon misfired, the explosion being far stronger than what they had aimed for? A dangerous thought, even if it would make more sense if anyone wanted to quickly clean up a world and get it ready for new inhabitants. But then that would mean that someone out there was looking for rapid expansion, and that in turn meant that there was even more trouble afoot.

Shaking his head to clear himself of the what-ifs, Death decided that the first course of action was tracking down those responsible for mystery weapon and getting some real answers.

"Was there anything left in world that could be usable to the nightfallen? Or anyone else for that matter?" Death asked.

Bormak scratched his chin in contemplation. "Not much I gather. They'd find good earth and stone on other worlds to be more accessible and easier to extract than from here. Same goes for any metals. Another few decades and the world would have been little more than a giant ball of sand. Had I not released the World Soul they might have been able to grow some plants, but they'd be few and far between. One hand sized shrub in maybe a square mile, if they were lucky."

"Not likely then."

"Definitely not Horseman." Bormak agreed. "Even a maker would find himself hard pressed to get this world to go back as it once stood."

Death wasn't sure he liked the sound of that. Memories of what Belisatra did and her work in reviving the Abomination Weapons quickly came to mind. "But a _maker_ could do it? Bring this world back to life?"

"Outside of Reorigination? Hardly." The maker scoffed. "They'd have more success trying to convince a half-eaten, maggot infested corpse into healing itself back up to a full heath. Best they could do would be to constantly be bringing plants from other worlds and try to create a hardier breed of them that can withstand the environment here."

' _Thank the Creator for small favors then.'_ Another round with power hungry crazy makers was not on Death's to-do list. At the very least, it gave him one less thing to worry about. Nightfall remained as his number one suspect, and if he began chasing down their trails something was bound to come up.

It was time to see what Nightfall had been up to for the past few millennia.

With a flick of the wrist, Death recalled Harvester from where it still stood half buried in dry earth and secured it to his waist in its more practical form of two twin scythes. "If Nightfall truly is behind this, they will answer for their actions, World Breaker."

"As they should." The maker stood firmly. "Shame I do not have much information to send you on your way. My work deals with dying worlds, not living ones. And this here would be the first time I've seen them actively involved in any kind of conquest."

Death appreciated the ancient's help. Had it not been for Bormak, he'd been running around blindly without a trail to follow. "I've worked out with less. The World Soul at least gave us a direction in which to look."

"Aye. Brave one that it was." The World Breaker grimaced briefly at the loss, before growing serious once more. "Still, I can give you something else of use."

The maker reached into one of his many pockets and retried what looked to be small gold acorn. Before Death could inquire further, Bormak kneeled down, planting the seed into the ground and gently covering it with the loose soil. Then after procuring a flask of some sort of liquid from another pocket, he poured it over the acorn. One quick inspection later, he stood up and took a few steps back, gently motioning to the nephilim to do the same.

"This world might be truly dead now Horseman, but there is still a little bit of magic left. Enough for me to give you a means to quickly travel to another world of my choosing."

"And where would you send me, Old One?" Death asked in a mildly detached tone, even if he was inwardly more than a little interested in the maker's actions.

He knew that a maker such as Bormak needed to be able to travel all across Creation, yet he never came across information as to how exactly it was that they traveled. He was quite curious as to how the makers did so, and how different or alike it was to his own means of travel. Not that any of the Horsemen would ever voice out, but the Charred Council's wormholes tended to be less than pleasant, and at the worst of times ridiculously time consuming to cross.

"The nightfallen are not new enemies. Heaven has had to deal with them more than any other race, so not ask them about a common foe? Tell them your reasons behind your questions and they should be more willing to share what they know. Now, the world I would send you lies on the outskirts of Heaven, were nightfallen used to linger some centuries ago. A better place to gather information on their recent whereabouts than sending you directly to their doorstep I would think."

"So in other words, to not scare them into hiding." Death added, hiding a smirk behind his bone white mask.

That earned him a deep chuckle from the maker. "That too. But mostly to properly assess how big of a threat they are, and to find out if all of Nightfall is behind this or some faction among them."

The eldest Horseman had to hand it to the maker. The plan he had come up with was simple, effective, subtle, and surprisingly well thought off for how little time it took him to draw it up. Not the way Death usually handled things, yet he could see the wisdom behind the maker's offer. If he were to suddenly appear at their gates, then the perpetrators would have undoubtedly done their best to stall him while they moved their operations elsewhere. At best, he would have merely delayed their actions. At worse, they could have been desperate enough to detonate a bomb, or several of them, right in the middle of worlds brimming with life. As dam near immortal as Death was, he wasn't sure just how well he would survive one of those exploding at close range, if at all, or how long would it take the Charred Council to patch him back into working order.

Opting not to dwell into those thoughts, the Rider decided to take Bormak's offer. Caution over haste, until he could hunt down his foes and give them no room for escape.

"Very well. I'll see if the angels are willing to cooperate." Death said, hands going to grasp the handles of the twin halves of Harvester. He didn't like doing business with them much, given how high and mighty they held themselves when in reality, they were as stubborn and obnoxious to deal with as the demons they so much hated. However, this was bigger than a few petty grudges, and for the sake of Creation he would put up with their arrogance and attitude.

Well, up to a certain point. After that, someone was going to be losing some feathers.

With a nod towards the smaller man, Bormak had stepped into a casting stance, holding his hammer up high in the air. Then, as he whispered softly in a language foreign to Death, magic surged around the maker, forming a hazy blue-green second skin over the giant man, while the runes on the massive hammer glowed brightly, as is resonating with the very words spoken by the Old One. The ground beneath him reacted as well, where thin vine-like tendrils began sprouting across the bone dry sands all around the little acorn. Within seconds a small patch of green grass had formed, extending from where the acorn had been settled into the ground up to the tips of Death's and Bromak's feet.

As the first blades of grass sprung under Death's boot, the Nephilim could feel the gentle swirl of energies coaxed by the maker's steady hand. It felt like a steady stream of water washing over him, gently lapping at his senses with a soft, soothing hum, almost like a gentle lullaby. A lesser being would have easily dozed off without a struggle, yet to Death, it was little more than a relaxing hymn. An oddly effective one at that.

Once the grass had fully covered the sands below, Bromak brought his hammer down gracefully until the head hovered just barely over where the acorn laid hidden. All around the hammer the vines that crept over the ground started to grow upwards, wrapping themselves together as they grew taller, forming spiraling branches covered in ivy and moss, joined at the top forming an elegant archway fit for a royal garden. One last pulse of maker magic and a blurry image of a landscape bathed in the colors of fall shimmered within the arch. A maker's portal bridging the gap between two worlds.

"Best be going. This portal will not last long." Bormak said after concluding the spell. "Seek out the angels if you can. There should be an outpost of theirs within a day's travel. Someone among them must know something that can be of use."

"I take it you will remain here." Death stated as he looked into the freshly made portal, trying to discern which planet it could lead to from the hazy image in its center. A few worlds came to mind, but none of them stood out. He would have to ask around once he crossed over.

"Of course. This world needs Reoriginating. Not to mention I am not about to let those bastards come back and do whatever they wish here." Bormak hefted his hammer over the shoulder, letting its weight set down comfortably, but Death knew that by the grip he had, the maker could effortlessly shift from relaxed to battle ready at a moment's notice. "Go, and do what _you_ do best. I'll do what _I_ do best. Worry not, should any of those bastards come back, well, let's say I'll have enough feathers to make a few pillows after the scuffle."

Death decided that he rather liked this maker. "Not if I kill them all before they come crawling all the way over here."

"Oh do try. But I will be keeping a tally to tell you later how many you missed then." Bormak grinned back, not the least bit scared at the prospect of having a small army for renegade angels try to kill him.

Surprisingly, Death could not find himself doubting the maker's battle prowess, despite not actually having seen the World Breaker in a fight. Come heaven or hell, Bormak would probably send them all running with their tails tucked between their legs. Perhaps someday he would attempt to track down the maker for a real spar to see how well he fought.

A flicker in the portal's image brought Death's thoughts back to the present. With no more time to waste, he drew both halves of Harvester. "You have my thanks, World Breaker. I'll leave you to your work."

"Good hunting Rider. And may you find the ones behind this." Replied the maker as he pulled down once more on the straw hat over his head, giving the smaller Nephilim brief nod. There was no need for additional farewells between the two of them.

With one last glance at the maker, Death dashed for the portal, changing his last step into a powerful leap as the hazy image of an autumn valley turned into clouds so thick they were impenetrable, leaving behind the parched dessert that Portaglos had become, and throwing him headfirst into the unknown.

For a few seconds, Death felt as if he was flying, the wind sweeping his hair away and pulling at the lighter pieces of cloth and leather that made up his armor, while his whole body was unhindered by the pull of gravity. Around him, the dark gray clouds rolled around, clashing like mighty waves in a sea. Yet Death felt no threat from them, for instead of trying to drown him out, he felt as if they were pulling, almost guiding him on. He let them, trusting that Bormak's magic knew well where the maker wished to send him, and that the swirling magics surrounding the Firstborn would heed their master's will.

A sudden change in the air alerted Death that he would soon be arriving to his destination. The dark sea of storm clouds began to thin out gradually, until becoming little more sparse white clouds, giving way to the world in which he had landed, and depositing him gently into the new land. Soft earth reached the Rider's feet as the last of the clouds faded away, leaving no trace as to who or what had just traveled across better part of Creation. Feeling no worse for wear, Death shrugged off the last of the mist and stepped forward to a nearby ledge to get a better view.

Before him stood a natural valley, filled with rolling hills of gold hued grass, flanked by a few mighty oaks and some evergreens, and topped off by a fair sized lake off in the distance. He himself stood upon a small natural ledge next to a tall mountain, mostly hidden from sight by a large, leafy willow of some kind, and surrounded by several smaller bushes. Faintly could Death hear the sound of running water, likely a stream coming from somewhere within the mountains themselves.

All things considered, the landscape did match that which was favored by the angels, yet there was no sign of the feathered folk. The angels usually stayed close to the higher grounds, where they would have the better advantage point in the eventual case of battle, but Death failed to see any sort of buildings or towers fashioned by angelic hands. Not even a lowly farmhouse.

Briefly Death wondered if the maker's spell had been a bit off. In theory the weakness of the world of origin would have destabilized part of the spell, and unless Bormak had left an anchor to which to aim at, Death could have been sent just about anywhere in the general location. That could mean anywhere between a couple of hours to several days of travel's worth of distance that needed to be traveled.

' _He did say within a day's travel.'_ Death sighed. Close or not so close, Bormak had saved him at the very least a visit to the Charred Council and having to use several wormholes. So he shrugged, deciding to work with what he got. _'Appearing in the middle of an angelic garrison wouldn't have made a very good impression either.'_

Behind him, Dust materialized and did a lap around Death before setting on the Horseman's armored shoulder.

"Oh now you show up." Death turned towards the bird, which cawed once and began preening himself. "Why don't you make yourself useful and find me some angels?"

In response, Dust tilted his head to the side, cawed twice before gazing off into the valley down below.

"Yes, _that_ valley." Death growled, sensing the bird's reluctance to search such a wide open area.

The crow shrunk in size, squawking once and taking off flying. The bird did only gained a few feet in height before diving back down, straight into the bushes behind the Nephilim.

' _Basted bird.'_

Death was seriously considering grabbing the cowardly crow and throwing him into the valley when a cry of a much larger bird echoed over the Rider's head. A split second later, another high pitched shrill from a large bird of prey cut through the air, followed shortly by the creature itself clearing the last of the tree tops and diving into the valley before Death. A gryphon. One of the creatures most used by angels as mounts.

And it was not alone. Even from the rapidly increasing distance, Death could distinguish the midnight gray wings from the angel seated on top of the mighty gryphon. Right on their tails was a group of true angels also on the backs of gryphons. Judging from the shouts and the exchange of bullets, that nightfallen had some something to truly egg on the angels giving him chase.

' _Looks like Bormak really did send me to the right place.'_ For a man who spent most of his time in solitude, the maker had some surprisingly up to date knowledge on current events. _'Now, how can I catch up to a group of flying gryphons at top speed?'_

The answer came to him when the angels managed to land a good hit on the nightfallen, knocking him cleanly out of his seat and singing better part of his wings. With his mount free and clearly reluctant to save it's rider, seeing as how it quickly darted away from the mayhem, the exiled angel would only be able to glide so far with his injuries. If he hurried, Death believed he could catch up with the squad before they retrieved the nightfallen and hauled him off to who knows where. And if not, then he could follow the angels back to their outpost.

With no time to waste, Death ran towards the edge and jumped off the cliffside. In midair he summoned Harvester and used the scythe to direct his descent, at times cutting into the mountain side to slow himself down or to push off at an angle, maneuvering out of the way of sharp protruding stone and vegetation. As he neared ground level, he plunged Harvester deeply into the mountain, almost bringing him to a stop, yet he twisted himself so that both feet were firmly planted on the mountainside, Harvester's edge just a foot away from his boots. From there he pulled, freeing Harvester and using the rest of the energy to somersault over the last few yards, and landing on top of Despair's already galloping body. Death manuevered himself properly into the saddle and urged the skeletal horse onward.

He had some angels to catch.

* * *

With a wave of his hand, Bormak allowed his portal spell to expire. The pale horseman was gone, off on a tender little world dotted by a few angelic villages in search of answers. The angels would surely help the Rider, if for no other reason than to rid themselves of the constant menace that the nightfallen brought. Once the exiled angels had taken to raiding and pillaging, the rest of the angels lost any kind of pity they had towards their wayward brethren. Illnalmir, the world to which Bormak had sent Death to, had long lost its patience with the nightfallen after several centuries' worth of harassment. Heaven did what it could, true, but a pair of brigades spread thin across the whole world could only do so much to actually stop the raiders from running away with loads of goods and coin.

Bormak breathed deeply, ignoring how the sands tried to sneak into his lungs, and released the breath, reining in his warring thoughts. With his breath, the last image of Illnalmir disappeared, and the once beautiful archway began to wilt. First the flowers, then the leaves and the grass around it, then the vines turned dusky gray and brown, falling apart as the last of its' strength left it. In what would have taken years to do, in little more than a minute had the whole archway turned back into moist, soft soil. No trace was left of the portal that had once stood there, other than the creator behind it.

All makers knew of the circle of life. Everything that lived had to die, and from their ashes new life could take hold. Such was the fate of the little seed he had coaxed into growing rapidly. He felt the loss of the seed, and the lovely vine it had grown into, yet the sorrow only held onto him briefly, because he knew that in that short amount of time, it had created seeds that were already mixing into the ground below, awaiting until the time was right for them to grow.

It was a pity that few others came to realize the importance of the balance between life and death. Fewer still were those than came to understand it as intrinsically as a maker did.

In truth, it filled his mind with rage whenever he saw someone take for granted all the effort and energy that actually went into allowing life to take form. As part of his oath as Reoriginator, he could not meddle in the affairs of the living. The nightfallen had however, crossed the line and interfered with _his_ work. Bormak feared for whatever they had planned, not only because it could potentially destroy the delicate system of allowing worlds to be reborn that the makers had put in place since the dawn of Creation, but for all the living beings caught in their schemes and thus eventually not having anywhere to reincarnate to.

 _Balance_ was at stake, not between Heaven and Hell as most believed, but for _life_ itself.

Bormak opened his eyes to see that one of the many amulets he carried had lightened up. One of his wards had detected a living creature. Or more likely an intruder.

Quickly, Bormak grabbed the amulet and focused a small spell that would reveal to him from where exactly had the intrusion come. The amulet, a simple polished stone with a rune engraved into its surface glowed gently, passing onto the maker the general idea of where had the wards activated.

It wasn't far away. Nor did he have to wait long.

Nightfall. Less than a dozen of them, all strapped in dark leathers and stained steel to match their midnight wings. A scouting party most likely.

While Bormak wasn't all that surprised to see them, they were surprised to see _him_. Their plans must have not included the possibility of finding someone alive on a world they nearly killed off. Pity that he had sent the Horseman away, but he could later make an extended detour and pass off any useful information.

"What is the matter of this?" one of the scouts said as he unsheathed his sword. "Daelegon, this world should have been empty!"

"Impossible!" Another countered, not believing what he saw. "The magics were sound! It couldn't have misfired!"

A third fallen angel few forward, stopping the other two from bickering any further. This one was dressed in a more elaborate suit of armor, identifying him as the leader of the party.

"No, it worked." He said, his voice as sweet as honey and as smooth as silk. " _He_ just came afterwards."

Bormak set his jaw and started to walk towards them calmly, even as fire filled his veins. "Well it would have been empty, had you buzzards not come all the way over here for little more than sand. You should have stayed home with your families. This world is dead."

Some of the exiled angels went into a fit of snickers.

"One lowly maker? Against a whole squad of us?" one of the other males called out, his face turning into a particularly nasty, craze filled grin. "You are no warrior, perhaps it should have been you who stayed home!"

Bormak did not fall for the taunt. They were haughty, prideful, and stupid. And it would be their downfall.

"No, I might not be a warrior. I am something _far_ worse." He responded as he too broke out into a grin, deciding to make use of the name the Pale Rider had given him offhandedly. "I am a World Breaker."

With that, he called out to the energies still locked deeply within the husk of a world on which he walked, causing the ground to tremble and crack with every step he took. Whatever grins the nightfallen held where quickly wiped away, perhaps coming to realize that they bit off far more than they could chew.

Their leader broken them out of their momentary panic and ordered them all to attack the lone maker. The dove in formation, brandishing their swords and spears, yet they were thrown apart by whirlwinds that had sprung out of nowhere. With the winds turned against them, they were far too focused on simply staying upright to pay much attention to the maker before them. A few called out to each other, trying to regroup, yet the winds drowned out their voices as well. Within seconds they were all lost, disoriented and scattered in all directions. They could not see, they could not fight, they could barely even fly.

But most importantly, they could not flee.

Unaffected by the winds, for it was the world itself coming to his aid, Bormak had kept walking forward. He knew exactly were each of the exiled angels was and they were going nowhere. He called out again, deeper this time, until he unlocked the very core of the world. The world in turn groaned with the sound of mountains collapsing and the ground ripped asunder. The remainder of the world's life essence swarmed into Bormak, and for a few seconds that felt like an eternity, he was one with the world. One body, one mind.

As like before when he freed the world's soul, he began chanting, weaving the words that would free the remainder of the world under his feet, one last act of vengeance against those that had wronged it. Thunder filled the skies as he lifted his great hammer once more and stuck the earth with the strongest blow he could muster.

Beneath him, the world _shattered_.


End file.
